Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail eBook

Then followed some talk which Pee-wee could not hear,
but he felt certain that it was on their favorite
topic of murder. Then he overheard these dreadful,
yet comparatively consoling words:

“Trouble with him is he always wants to kill;
he’s gun crazy. Take them if you want to,
but what’s the use killing? That’s
what I said to him.”

“Steal—­”

“Oh sure, that’s just what I told him,”
the speaker continued; “steal up—­”

“Step on it,” the other interrupted, “we’re
out in the country now.”

The big super six Hunkajunk car darted forward and
Scout Harris could hear the purring of the big engine
as the machine sped along through the solemn darkness.
A momentary, cautious glimpse from under the big robe
showed him that they were already far from the familiar
environs of Bridgeboro, speeding along a lonely country
road.

Now and then they whizzed past some dark farmhouse,
or through some village in which the law abiding citizens
had gone to their beds. Occasionally Pee-wee,
peeking from beneath the robe, saw cheerful lights
shining in houses along the way and in his silent terror
and apprehension he fancied these filled with boy
scouts in the full enjoyment of scout freedom; scouts
who were in no danger of being added to some bloody
list of dead ones.

That he, Pee-wee Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol,
First Bridgeboro Troop, should have come to this!
That he should be carried away by a pair of inhuman
wretches, to what dreadful fate he shuddered to conjecture.
That he, Scout Harris, whose reputation for
being wide awake had gone far and wide in the world
of scouting, should be carried away unwittingly by
a pair of thieves and find himself in imminent peril
of being added to that ghastly galaxy of “dead
ones.” It was horrible.

Pee-wee curled up under the robe so as to disarm any
suspicion of a human form beneath that thick, enveloping
concealment and even breathed with silent caution.
Suppose—­suppose—­oh horrors—­suppose
he should have to sneeze!

CHAPTER VI

A MESSAGE IN THE DARK

Pee-wee seldom had any doubts about anything.
What he knew he knew. And what is still
better, he knew that he knew it. No one ever had
to remind Pee-wee that he knew a thing. He not
only knew it and knew that he knew it, but he knew
that everybody that he knew, knew that he knew it.
As he said himself, he was “absolutely positive.”

Pee-wee knew all about scouting; oh, everything.
He knew how and where tents should be put up and where
spring water was to be found. He did not know
all about the different kinds of birds, but he knew
all about the different kinds of eats, and there are
more kinds of eats than there are kinds of birds.
How the Bridgeboro troop would be able to get along
without their little mascot was a question. For
he was their “fixer.” That was his
middle name—­“fixer.”